


The Only Tomorrow is Right Now

by callmecloudybutdontreally, Queensme



Series: The Only [1]
Category: Banana Bus Squad, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Apocalypse, Arachnophobia, Background Character Death, Blood, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Dismemberment, Gen, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Injury, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Mushrooms, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Character Death, Shooting Guns, Zombie Apocalypse, deadly deadly mushrooms, for some bits its not as bad, spore clouds, theyve got superpowers, this has been in the works for a while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25261612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmecloudybutdontreally/pseuds/callmecloudybutdontreally, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queensme/pseuds/Queensme
Summary: "Do you trust me?"He should've said yes. He should've lied and said "Yes, yes I do" because that would've helped his cause far more than saying no. By saying that, he sealed his fate, he knew, but he couldn't help but feel relieved. Despite it all, he didn't trust The Voice, and he never would be able to. The Voice, who'd guided him to the others, putting them all in danger. He wasn't worth the risk."No. No I don't."Update: Title has been changed from "The Only Shot" to "The Only Tomorrow is Right Now" on 8/1/2020.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), None, put your shipping pens down
Series: The Only [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831159
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. San Diego Streets

**Author's Note:**

> you know the rules with rpf: don't shove this in the face of the people this is about. its rude. if any person in this feels uncomfortable with this fanfiction, then feel free to say so; thisll be taken down as soon as possible. despite the fact that there are no ships in this that ill make, i know that there are some creators that are uncomfortable about fanfiction about them in general. which is completely fair, i understand. thank you for your cooperation.
> 
> ANYWAYS—  
> we have an idea that ive been sitting on for awhile right here. the post apocalypse has always been an interesting concept, but i havent really seen many people explore it with fast growing mushrooms and fungi hellbent on surviving. thanks infographics for the idea, i love it.

"Who's turn is it to run this time?"

Evan liked watching from afar, not only because he only had to move with them but because he never really had to do anything dangerous. They kept him occupied, and he would follow them around, watching them with the eyes of a keen hawk in the form of an owl. Because that was him, the owl. He didn't interfere, didn't endanger them, didn't protect them, just watched and reassured himself.

Of what, he didn't know. All he knew was that he could shapeshift, and therefore he'd made the perfect bird of himself so that he could watch them, at least know if they were alive.

Jonathan was, as well as Brock and Marcel, Scotty, Tyler, Anthony, and Ryan. The whole squad was almost here, almost all alive, almost all of them in confirmed safety of the apartment building they had moved into when they hadn't been able to fight them all. Not all of them were in one piece, but at least they were alive, not dead, or worse, one of those zombie things that those mushrooms had turned everyone into.

It had been deemed risky to go to the conventions, but even through that many youtubers went, many artists went, many actors and actresses went, many streamers— so many people went.

It had been stupid, Evan could tell. They really should've been more careful, had forced the people to get screened before and after they attended, to make sure that nobody had the fungus, or just, you know, cancelled them until this was over.

Stupid move. And now the whole world had it.

Scratch that. Most of the world. His friends, at least some of them, were still alive, and so far nobody he knew had succumbed to the monster that was this fungus. All the deaths had been caused by other humans.

More monsters in this already messed up world.

"When was the last time Tyler did one?"

They needed to figure out who was going outside to get supplies, who was staying, and who was going to protect in between. Ryan was definitely staying, with both of his eyes missing thanks to a rogue gang looking for supplies, when he didn't have anything more than an empty gun and bullet shells. Marcel would be going out with whoever was volunteering as tribute, because he had a mad swing with his baseball bat and many layers of clothes to defend against the fungus. Jonathan would head to the radio tower, hoping to finally get a signal. Scotty would protect the house, having a gun in case more rogues attacked them, and also because he was missing an arm (they truly had been lucky when they managed to cut it off before the fungus spread in its rapid fashion). So that left Tyler and Brock.

"Rock paper scissors, guys," Scotty said. "One goes, one stays.”

Tyler and Brock did Rock Paper Scissors, Brock cheering when Tyler lost. If they had done best of five, Evan was sure that Tyler would’ve won.

"Fuck you," Tyler muttered. "Not like I didn't want to bash some zombie heads in anyways."

"With what?" Marcel asked, grinning. "I have the bat."

"I have the gamer rage."

Evan hooted. That was really the only sound he could make, apart from very loud screeching sounds which he used to wake them up, and so it would be until this whole thing ended. Maybe then he would reveal himself to his friends, apologize for everything and nothing, tell them why he didn't help (he really couldn't, because he'd his hamstring while he was trying to escape the hoard. Maybe it was better for them to think he was dead?) and then he would make sure that he kept them safe, no matter what came next.

If he wasn't carted off to the madhouse or taken to a top secret government base to be experimented on, that was.

"There's that damn owl again. Reminds me of Evan." Ryan said, a small smile perking his scarred lips. "God, do I miss him."

He almost feels bad, but he can't afford that. Would they even accept him back after finding him out, or would they call the government on him?

'They can't. The government won't be able to do that for many years. You could have a new life by then.'

There was an animal inside of him, he'd noticed this when he first transformed. It had been a rabbit, fast and small, when he'd first found it. It told him where to hide, how to blend in, how to think like a rabbit. It seemed to transform with him, and it was sort of his therapist.

God, did he need one. They all did.

"Brock, grab the backpack, you know what we need. Non perishables apart from any fruits that haven't rotted, and cans of beans and soup that don't need to be cooked. No chicken."

"I know, Ryan," Brock said. Grabbing the bag from one of the cotts they'd arranged, he passed Tyler a smug look before grabbing the baseball bat and tossing it to Marcel. "Is there anything else you would like, your majesty?"

"Some non perishables, thank you," Tyler said. "That's all."

"I'll pick up some games on the way back," Marcel said. "Need something other than another game of monopoly to keep us happy."

"Batteries," Jonathan said. "We need batteries."

"I'll get those too," Brock nodded. "Lets go, before it gets too late to come back during the day."

Evan hooted again, watching as Ryan grinned, before he flew down onto Marcel's shoulder and stayed there, as he normally did. The man looked at him for a few moments, before he sighed. "Guess you can come with. Just don't touch me after I've killed something."

He tilted his head, made a small sound which was more of a pigeon than an owl's, before he made a nod with his head and pinched his ear.

* * *

San Diego looked like a horrible place to have a zombie infestation.

It used to have so many people in its streets, so many potential hosts for the fungus, so many ways for the demon to sprout and kill even more, if it can survive to find more hosts. The fungus had killed and spread quickly, in one of the most dangerous areas to do it. Evan had found, however, that the fungus could only survive a few days without a host, at best, and it often sprouted more during the night. It also glowed during the night, but that didn’t matter, because you could barely see rotting flesh in the night anyways.

Dead bodies were all over the place, some with their heads bashed in because of Marcel or Tyler, others missing them altogether because of wild animals, Evan, or the mushrooms had simply popped them off to grow. Spores were only released when you actually hacked one of the fungi, so as long as they only knocked it down it was fine.

They’d learned that the hard way with Scotty.

Flapping his wings, Evan squaked at Marcel to follow. He didn’t count ‘help’ as finding food for them, or uninfected spots where they could walk without having to throw the shoes away as soon as they were done. It was a waste, after all, and they were his friends. He had a right to make sure they didn’t die, because that was the least he could do for them.

Marcel walked in the front, holding the metal bat in his hands as they walked through the dead bodies and mushrooms. None of the dead were. . . Well, alive, from Evan’s inspection of the area. Zombies didn’t breathe, and if they were alive then they would be standing and running at them, not laying in piles on the street.

Brock stepped over another body, following Marcel. His job was to only attack if they really needed him to, because if he got the fungus on him it would be a waste of perfectly clean clothes on him. Marcel was only able to have all his clothes because he had the best swing, Evan had gathered.

Though, Tyler was right behind him in that, with all that pent up anger inside of him.

Surprisingly enough, people had been smart enough to not waste time going into the shops to get away from the zombies. That made them mostly clean of the fungi, saving them the trouble of picking out cans without the disease on it.

Marcel stood by the door of the first one while Brock went through the back, grabbing whatever he could and more. Some fruits, lots of canned beans and soup, but nothing much else. There were some pumpkin cans which they would eat whenever something big happened, but that was really nothing. Finding the gun had been one of those times, because now they had more than just a bat and fists.

“Batteries, Brock,” Marcel said over his shoulder. Evan went around back just before then, landing and transforming into a shrew. He then slipped inside, making loud noises near things of value. This also wasn’t ‘help’, he was just making sure they got the things they needed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Brock packed the cans, looking around. “God, the rats are annoying. It won’t stop screaming.”

Evan squealed louder, before Brock sighed and made his way over. “I’m gonna step on it if I can find it,” he packed the batteries that were on the shelf into the bag as well, before looking around. “Wanna break into the toy store and see what they got?”

“Hell yeah,” Marcel said. “We've played monopoly so much that I’m gonna punch the monopoly man if I ever see him.”

“Pretty sure Tyler would let out all his gamer rage and kill him before you even got the chance to,” Brock said, grinning. “Not that I wouldn’t do the same— we might kill each other before we get to kill him.”

Evan squealed, before rushing away when Brock looked around angrily for him. “Damn rats! I hate them!” He went through an open pipe, running until he found himself outside and turned back into the owl. Orange feathers, not unlike the one he had as his avatar when YouTube still existed.

Dear god. If that was being referred to as a timeline then it had to have been a long time ago when this whole thing started.

‘Six months, three days,’ his inner animal told him. He raised an eyebrow at himself, before the creature responded. ‘I have nothing really good to do in here. Keeping track of the time is a nice distraction while we aren’t doing anything interesting. Speaking of which, how about eating that rat down there?’

His eyes turned to a shrew on the ground, nibbling at what seemed to be a piece of flesh. Rotted flesh, with no sign of the fungi on it. Good.

He swooped down, opening his claws, and in one swift motion he had stabbed the shrew with his talons, decapitating it quickly and swallowing it whole. When this whole thing had started, when he’d first transformed, Evan had refused to stoop low enough to eat scavengers, or even raw meat, though that was what he had been doing before. When he realized there was nothing else to eat unless he found an opened can, however, he had begun to eat them. Not the head though— that was too much.

He returned to Marcel a few moments after, blood still covering his beak. He hadn’t liked that either, until he found out that he couldn’t just wipe blood on his wings and expect to not want more of it. He found a bloodlust that would hopefully go away on its own, otherwise he would have to transform into an animal just to eat, which he didn’t want.

“Don’t tell me you pecked at a mushroom,” Marcel said. “If you did, I’ll kill you.”

Evan made a nodding motion with his head, a quick one which signified that he understood, but he wasn’t smart enough to actually form a decent response. ‘Keep then confused. They are your prey, and you need to make sure they don’t know you’re onto them.’

The animal had some great analogies, if he was being honest.

* * *

It was six days later that they went for a supply run. Not that they didn’t have supplies to survive, they just always wanted to stay prepared in case a hoard came at them like in Left 4 Dead, or something along those lines. Jonathan managed to get a radio working— it was playing old music, but it was music nonetheless— and Scotty’s arm was looking a lot better than it had the week before, with barely any infection on the nub. They’d changed out the bandages around Ryan’s head— thank god no infection actually got him, or antibiotics would’ve done nothing— on a schedule, where every five or so hours they would check to see how bad it was bleeding, or if at all. Brock and Tyler had taken to going outside together with a baseball bat, which he would follow them and watch them to make sure they didn’t get infected or anything, to go see if they could find any zombies to kill.

It was Tyler’s turn to go this time, along with Scotty and Marcel, because Scotty couldn’t just stay cooped up in the broken apartment complex for however long they were going to stay there.

He’d heard of them starting to plan a way to see for a rescue, Jonathan talking about maybe sending out a radio signal using one of the towers. Only Jonathan would be able to do it, and it was highly doubted that anyone would even risk infection to save their sorry asses. They’d probably say something along the lines of “Look, you knew there was this infection, and you went to the Con anyways. This whole thing is on you.”

‘It’s not. It’s on the people who went to the Con, because none of the outside folk had been tested like you guys. I’ll rip their throats out if anyone says that to me.’

Evan had grown accustomed to the animal talking in first person about  _ them _ , even though it was his body and his mind. Maybe he had gone insane? He didn’t know, but he wanted to. And it wasn’t like he could talk to anyone about this either. They’d send him to an asylum if they found out about the animal voice. Or the animal in general.

‘There you go with the government again. They’re probably all dead anyways, because nobody but smart folk are gonna survive this, and they’re stupid, I say.’

“You’re stupid too, in the best way,” Evan replied, sighing. He transformed into his human form sometimes, when nothing was around and it was safe to, simply so that he could hear his own voice. His own, ragged, gravely voice with the sense that he hadn’t used it in oh so long. Which was true, as he was either an owl or a rat the entire time. “I can’t help but think about it though. What if they come and take me away, because I can transform, or what if they remove you from me and I don’t have anyone who understands, or what if—”

‘Enough with the ‘What ifs’. Focus on right now. Don’t let your prey get out of your sight. There are others like you, that I have to take care of as well. He  _ really _ needs to learn how to control it—”

“Others—?”

‘Your prey, Evan Fong. Don’t lose them. I’ll be back in a little bit.’

The animal always said this every once in a while, and he normally imagined something like a tiger or a wolf sulking in one of the far reaches of his mind, talking to himself about the stupid idiots that were humans.

* * *

Evan was floating around, on his own, when he spotted something out of the ordinary. At least, different from the corpses with mushrooms poking out of everything, and the living dead who were walking around the streets completely free from anything. It was a man, two men, walking together, surrounded by large, reddish-pink wings which seemed to be attached to him, hiding them from the zombies. Well, okay, it wasn't really hiding, because they were in the middle of the street with a shotgun and giant wings.

Had he seen them before? He barely recognized their faces, and before he knew it he was diving down to land on a nearby tree, to watch them. Evan could've sworn he'd seen their faces before, somewhere, maybe during the YouTube times when everything was peaceful. (He needed to stop referring to it as a timeline, because it wasn't just a period of time to so many people, it was their lives and careers, and everything in between.)

Torn, black sweatshirts, stained with the bright blue that the fungus let off whenever one of the spores exploded. That was dangerous, that was infection, and he almost wondered if they both were zombies. The taller one had the wings, which had small, pink mushrooms growing off the bottoms and feathers of beautiful shades of red. The shorter one possessed spider's legs on his back, also stained blue at the tips where he'd likely stabbed the fungi infected zombies. They, together, were holding a shotgun and surrounded by wings, legs, and mushrooms of varying colors.

"It's looking straight at us," the taller one said, and Evan recognized that voice after a few moments of decoding. Markiplier.

"I think so," the other didn't even speak, and Mark was replying. "It might not be able to see us. Maybe we can just walk past it?"

It lunged, and they screamed as a gunshot rang out. Evan flinched, his feathers ruffling harshly as he tried to get rid of the ringing that was left behind. The zombie exploded, blue powder flying all over the place as the corpse fell to the ground in pieces. Gas pockets. Of course the spores would have that.

"Yep," Mark replied. "They heard that."

True to the observation, more and more of them began to emerge, walking towards them at a rather slow pace. It wasn't the zombies that scared everyone— it was the fungus that really made everyone want to run. Fungi meant death, so just don’t come near it.

It was everywhere though, so that was that.

The two turned down an alley which led to the forest, Evan flying with them just to see. Were they shapeshifters too? Was this what the animal was talking about when he said 'others'?

Mark couldn't fit into the trees, unfortunately, not with those wings. The shorter one, on the other hand, barely could, wrapping the eight spider legs around himself and jumping in. He was surprisingly gymnastic, using his arms and legs to push himself up a tree rather very rapidly, and the spider legs to keep from falling off.

Mark couldn't do that. "I'll find you in a bit, Ethan! Get on top of something!"

Evan watched as Mark turned around and punched a zombie in the face, grasping its head and bashing it into another's. He didn't seem afraid of the fungus, like he really should've been, and simply continued to beat zombies until he was overrun.

In an instant, Evan made a decision. One which would impact him for who knows how long, and one which the animal wouldn't want, because he didn't really know Mark and Mark didn't really know him. Only protect those of your pack, and keep your prey in sight.

Survivors were his pack.

Evan transformed into a wolf, a large, silver one with a large mouth that could bite a zombie clean in half. His yellow eyes changed blue, his wings left, his small horns were gone, and now he was a wolf. A predator at the top of the food chain, something that could protect others.

He lunged forward with a howl, plowing through zombies like a bowling ball through pins. He stomped on them, bit them, ripped them to pieces, threw them— everything he could until he couldn't see any of them that could pose a threat around them. He vaguely noticed the satisfaction that was deep inside his bones, the bloodlust having calmed, and then the pain in his lungs and how hard it was to breathe. He turned towards Mark, looking into his horrified yet amazed eyes, before he transformed into a human, complete with his red and white jacket and pants, and collapsed.

* * *

When Evan awoke, he was on a rooftop, in his human form, looking at the night sky, the beautiful black which the white stars protruded from, cutting through the darkness like a hot knife through butter. The moon was a crescent, standing high in the sky with an almost smug attitude which said "Look at me, I'm up here, perfectly safe from those zombies. Should've tried to become an astronaut, Evan."

He shook his head, looking about. He was laying some distance away from Mark and Ethan, who were talking in a hushed conversation. Mushrooms were sprouting around the two of them— pink, red, maroon, white— with Mark's wings held low and Ethan's spider legs held high, shining blue in the darkness. There was a campfire between them, and it wasn't until the night's breeze hit him that he realized that he was cold. He stood slowly, pulling his unzipped jacket together as he awkwardly shuffled over to them in an attempt to keep pressure off his leg.

"He's awake," Mark said, smiling. "Hi. How are you?"

"I'm cold," Evan replied, moving closer to the fire. "Is it ok if I sit down here?"

"You saved my life, of course you can," Mark answered. Ethan gave him a look, and the two of them stared at each other before turning back to him. "What's your name? Don't want to be calling you Cold if you have an actual name."

"I'm Evan."

Ethan nodded at him. When their eyes met it was almost an automatic connection, which was strange but felt fine. "I'm Ethan."

"And I'm Mark," Mark said. "I would shake your hand, if I wasn't covered in this powder."

Evan looked him up and down. He had lots of the blue powder on him, not much on his wings but everywhere else. Shirt, pants, hands, hair, shoes. All of it was covered, and he looked just fine, apart from that depressed look in his eyes, the look that everyone he'd seen carried. For good reason, but still. It was haunting, to know this was their reality, and that if they ever came back from this that they would likely never be able to go back to the way things were, anyways.

"How are—" Evan began, not knowing how to phrase the question. "How— I thought—"

"The fungus can't hurt us," Ethan said. His lips stayed closed, as if he were saying this telepathically. "We're immune to it. The voice in my head keeps saying that, anyways."

"Voice," Evan says, turning to Mark. "You hear a voice?" Mark nodded. "Deep, rumbly voice?"

"Kind of aloof, with no fun behind its tone?" Ethan asked. "We hear that. At first, I thought I just went insane, until Mark talked about it too."

"It talks about others," Evan said. "It says there are others, more than just me, and you guys, right?"

Mark nods. "Yeah. He talks about all sorts of people, when I talk to him. A guy with a lighter whose immune to fire, a mechanics guy who can fix anything as long as he has all the parts, super speed, teleportation, wings and telepathy. He talks about a lot of people. There's a guy with the power of a literal god, aparently. One of them built a radio the other week, I think. One guy has no eyes and can see—"

Evan nearly shouted in realization. He'd left the rest of his pack, his prey, behind, to help two people who could (couldn't) manage on their own, who would survive without him. Instead he just stared at the fire, seeing Jonathan and Ryan's faces, Ryan without his eyes and his blindfold and Jonathan with the batteries he asked for and his radio. He really should've thought to ask the animal, because then maybe he would've known—

"My group," Evan said, finally breathing correctly. "Ryan's missing his eyes, and Jonathan made a radio. I'm so stupid— I never thought to ask—"

"He doesn't like talking," Ethan said. "If it makes you feel any better, Mark and I pestered him for hours until he finally screamed at us to shut up and he would answer our questions."

"He also talks about a shapeshifter, you, I think. He says you've got his name wrong, and he's not an animal, but just a subconscious apparition which gives you hints of what to do as that animal."

"He never told me what to do as an owl," Evan said, looking between the two. "He just said to follow my prey, my friends. Does he have a name?"

"He gave us two different ones when we asked," Ethan pulled a can of beans out of his pocket and placed it near the fire. "One said that he was an omnipotent being who couldn't help us, and the other was that his name was Cry."

"Cry?" Evan laughed. "You can't be serious. Wasn't he a YouTuber too?"

Mark chuckled, running a hand through his hair. Oh god, Evan's must've been a mess if the last time he looked in a mirror said anything. "Yeah. Good friends of Felix's, I think. He apparently died at the beginning of this whole thing and has been watching over everyone else who gained some kind of power— 'adaptations', he calls them— and trying to guide us all to one another. Not sure how that would work, because I'm guessing it's a worldwide thing, but we'll see."

The group fell silent, Evan staring at the stars. He could've named a couple of constellations, he was sure, but it didn't take that long for someone to speak again.

"So, Evan," Ethan began. His mouth wasn't moving, and Evan wondered if Ethan had stopped moving it on purpose or if it was an accident, that he didn't realize he wasn't talking with his vocal chords. "Tell us about your apocalypse. When did it begin?"

* * *

Comicon was pretty normal, to start out. Sure, Evan was worried about the new infection that was going around, but it wasn't enough to stop him from going and meeting his fans, meeting up with friends, and just all around to have a good time. He didn't want to worry about the fungus which everyone was talking about, didn't want to worry about his friends or family.

It was nice to meet up with friends, and take his mind off of everything for a few hours.

Scotty was with Ryan, and Ryan was with the rest of the group, though only Ryan seemed to be talking. His eyes were still there, and Scotty still had both of his arms. They were talking about a video game with the group, the new Animal Crossing and some other games popping up here and there, with ideas for the Minecraft server and jokes all over the place from all of them. Nogla and Brian were there, and Evan's heart sank as he realized that they must've died when the first mushroom had been found and the panic ensued.

Evan was speaking as well, but he couldn’t hear himself as his focus was on a woman with a rather very strange shrub. Blue fungus grew on the leaves as she smiled and went up to people, showing the plant off to them. (Evan wanted to run, but he couldn’t, because past him hadn’t seemed to notice the danger, didn’t know—)

Tyler made a joke, and the whole group dissolved into laughter, even Evan, who made the mistake of turning away from the woman. (Stupid) They went back to conversation, then Nogla dropped something which in turn Brian made a joke with him about, and then they were all laughing again. (Stupid, stupid) Fans were around them, and then everyone busied themselves with talking to the crowd and occasional side quips at one another. (Stupid, stupid, STUPID—)

They talked for a few more minutes, where a minute turned into ten, and ten turned into an hour, and they were doing all sorts of things at this point. Evan’s time had molded into a blur, all of it until he was just talking about random things that happened to him during the Con. His focus of the rant was on the infected plant, and how the lady with it eventually came to their group and brushed against Scotty’s arm with it by accident.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, moving the plant back.

“No problem,” Scotty responded, looking at his arm. “Just some pollen, no biggie.”

She smiled, before turning around and leaving. Evan wanted to scream at both of them, about how stupid they were for touching it, for letting it touch them, for her to even have the plant, but she was gone before he could say anything to her., and it was spreading up Scotty’s arm at an alarming rate. (You need to move, to get it off of him. He’ll die if it stays.)

Of course, Evan didn’t know this at the time, and it was among the worst things that he knew was that they would soon cut off Scotty’s arm for survival. His screams still echoed through his mind, the pain of watching his friend thrash harshly as they held him down, to make sure he survived. (Get if off of him, this is your chance—)

Soon enough there was a widespread panic as a dead body was found in one of the booths, a large mushroom growing out of their ear and more continuing. People were screaming, running into each other, Brian grabbed Nogla’s arm and ran in one direction, the rest in the other, except for Scotty, who was standing about (stupidly, he was being so stupid!) staring at the fungus that was creeping up his arm. It was slow, yes, but it was deadly, and it was on one of his friends.

Evan rushed back through the crowd to him, grabbing his clean arm and pulling him with the rest to the doors, leaving as quickly as he could. He vaguely remembered grabbing a large piece of metal to defend himself with before they dashed into the forest together.

* * *

Ethan looked at him with a face full of shock, and he was sure that his mouth would’ve been open if he wasn’t just staring blankly at him. Mark had a horrified hint at himself, the red mushrooms growing taller and his feathers ruffled.

“They think I’m dead,” Evan sighed, looking at a mushroom which had sprouted near him. “We were running from a bunch of them and I collapsed, my hamstring snapped, and they tried to bite me and stuff. I transformed into a rabbit then, and that’s when I first heard the voice. I didn’t contact them because. . .”

“You were afraid to,” Ethan said, nodding in understanding. “They’d tell you you were insane, until they actually had another who felt it.”

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Bob and Wade freaked out a little when Ethan came out with spider legs, but they were cool when they realized he wasn’t a demon. I wasn’t sure if I was sane when the voice started.”

“I feel like everyone who's going through this is gonna say that,” Ethan said. He poked the can of soup with one of his legs, breaking a hole in the top. He took a long sip, before he passed it to Mark, who did the same then handed it to Evan.

Soup tasted so good compared to reptiles and rats, but it didn’t leave him feeling full like them. However, it felt nice to eat actually warm food that he knew for a fact was healthy for him, instead of rodents of varying questionability and reptiles which made him pick scales out of his teeth for weeks.

“Thank you,” Evan said, leaving plenty for the others. He didn’t have too much of an appetite, despite how good the soup tasted, and instead he passed it back to Ethan and Mark for them to finish. “Seriously. It’s nice to be human for more than a few minutes, I can’t thank you enough.”

“I can say the same,” Mark grinned. “I would’ve died if you hadn’t saved me. You’re terrifying as a wolf.”

“I’m an owl, though,” Evan said. “It suits me more, and it’s easier to get food as one. Less to eat.”

Ethan stayed silent, wrapping his legs around himself and laying down on his back. He moved a little away from the fire, as to not catch it on any part of him, then turned on his side and sighed. An actual sigh, coming out of his mouth.

“So, when did your apocalypse start?”


	2. Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Las Angelis is a place of only bad memories now. Mark goes south east.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii
> 
> this is cloudy, im back after so long of being dead!  
> basically, ive spent the past few months just sitting around doing nothing, and the week before school started up again i was all like 'im gonna actually publish something' and then i didnt. so sorry abt that
> 
> im working on queen with this, who mostly writes stuff in the rpf category. personally i like her writing, and i really like the idea that she came up with for this one. we're trying to hit 4-6k words per chapter, so they'll take awhile to come out, but since there's only gonna be 10 for this one its prob gonna be faster than the other ones.
> 
> fun fact: queen wrote the original draft for this chapter and told me to make the angst happen, so thats what i did.

The stars were beautiful when you didn’t have anything else to look at. At least, that’s how he felt. Spending hours laying on his side, simply waiting for the fungi to consume him, left him bored out of his mind. He wanted to move, but didn’t have the strength to, but he didn’t just want to give up. If the fungus wasn’t eating him alive, then what was it doing sitting under him, glowing bright blue in the most annoying way? Why couldn’t it either kill him or die?

Was he really not worth the effort of a plant simply releasing a small cloud of spores to infect him?

Mark sighed, rubbing his hand on his face before looking back up at the sky. He supposed that he was hungry—it  _ had  _ been awhile since he’d eaten, even before the evacuation was ordered. The evacuation that failed, and left everyone who had tried to leave dead, and him wishing that he was. He’d always joked about how when the apocalypse began he would be the first to die, but he wasn’t expecting it to be farther from the truth.

Because the fungus hated him enough to completely ignore him, instead of using his willing body for food. Because it wasn’t that easy. Because the apocalypse wanted him to survive.

Well fuck that.

The stars were prettier than the streets of Los Angelis, and from now on they always would be. The end of the world was a bitch; he would be able to say that he knew that, if there was anyone left besides him. If he was alone… well then, that’s the end of this story. Not quite.

Mark would’ve laid there forever, if not for the intense pain that came with hunger. He figured it must’ve been a day since the rescue failed, and a day before that when they’d used up the last of their supplies and needed to go out for more. Three days. Three days since he’d eaten last, and two since he’d last drank even a miniscule amount of water. Dehydration would get him, at this point.

Despite everything, he still had a sense to press on and survive. Natural instincts, maybe? Or was it just him, not quite wanting to die just yet? Either way, Mark pushed himself up, brushing off the spores that covered his clothing, and started walking back into the city. There was a heavy weight on his back, almost making him fall over, but he knew he could handle it if he just got used to it. Probably from a day of misuse and a day of overexertion before that.

He managed to get himself to a store—a small one, just a corner store with the bare essentials—before he realized that he had a huge problem. The fungus. It likely infected the food and water, and anything that wasn’t canned or in bottles was likely dangerous to eat or drink. Luckily, this didn’t seem to be the case, as the only fungus that was in the building was what he was tracking in from the outside.

Mark grabbed a cheap bag that sat behind the counter (he probably needed it more, but that didn’t make him feel better about stealing) and began to grab things. Canned soups, water bottles, two energy drinks that were untouched, and a few other things that would definitely come in useful. He looked behind the counter for something that could help him to defend himself, and, well…

Mark found a shotgun. With packs of ammo that matched next to it. He grabbed the ammo and shoved it into his bag, before grabbing the gun and slinging the bag over his shoulder. He didn't have anything to holster it, but he would be fine with carrying it around. Safer to be armed then waste time getting it out. It reassured him too.

He pushed back the voice in the back of his head that said that stealing was wrong, even if it was for his own good, and left the store with a bag of the essentials and a weapon.

————

Mark managed to make the things in the bag last longer than he would’ve originally thought they would. He’d saved the energy drinks for when he needed caffeine, and would only eat a fourth of a can daily. Water was more of an issue, since he needed more of it to deal with the dehydration that he’d been suffering, and had already drank four bottles in two days. He would have to get better about that, when resources became too scarce to stay in the city, he knew, but Mark decided to ignore it for the time being.

Wandering the streets of the now abandoned Los Angelis was something that was almost surreal. It was like all the apocalypse shows that he’d watched, except it wasn’t anything like that at all. This was real, this was happening, and this wasn’t like all the times he’d imagined it in his dreams. Mark was completely alone, walking the streets of a corpse ridden city with no contact to the outside world. Who knew—maybe they’d gotten it under control in other places?

“ _ Doubtable. _ ”

Right. Of course. The voice in his head. It had appeared the day he started walking around and collecting supplies. It didn’t sound like one he knew particularly well, but he definitely recognized it. Maybe he was just imagining it, but he didn’t know. It was actually kind of nice to have another voice besides his own whenever he felt too lonely.

Currently, he was laying on the sand of the beach, simply staring out into the distance. Maybe he thought there would be a rescue attempt, maybe a plane flying over, maybe something to remind him that there were still people out there besides him. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle it if he was the only person left.

In his trips, Mark had managed to grab a phone cord and a small charging box with solar capabilities. His phone was plugged in, and the box was sitting in a place where the sun could reach, and he was just waiting. Waiting for something. Someone. Maybe Bob or Wade, to tell him that they were okay, that the fungus had been contained, and that there would be another rescue attempt, to save the survivors. Maybe Ethan, to tell him that he and Amy and Chica were still alive, that there was a safe place that he could go to filled with other survivors. Maybe the government, to tell everyone who still had service to get in a sheltered place, because they were dropping a bomb to get rid of the fungus, maybe kill all of the zombies in the process.

Hope was the only thing Mark had left, really. Everything was gone. And if it wasn’t already, then it would be soon. The beliefs of Unus Annus were really starting to make him think, because at the moment the clock was reaching its final hours, the final days of human civilization as they knew it. Or maybe the clock had years ahead of it, maybe human civilization wouldn’t be ending so soon, maybe it would live on for centuries more, possibly thriving more than it had been before.

Whatever the case, the clock sure was ticking at an agonizing pace.

Mark heard a small ding as his phone powered up, and he reached for it. He pulled it up, to block the sun from his eyes as he checked to see if anything new came up. Maybe a message saying that the fungus was under control, and that everything would be okay. That it wasn’t the end of the world, and that everyone was dead.

There was a message, but not the one that he was hoping for.

‘The fungus, known as the Blue Consumer, has reached the US Capitol. If you see the fungus in your neighborhood, stay inside, cover every opening, and only go outside if mandatory. Ration your supplies; Military forces will be sent when it is deemed safe enough to attempt an evacuation.’

That was a week ago. The next message was even worse.

‘The president of the United States is dead, as are over 100 million people in the country. There is no way to fight the fungus, and the fungus thrives during the night. All evacuation attempts made have failed, and all remaining citizens are being ordered to travel East, where evacuations to Europe will be carried out. Travel light, travel careful, and ration your supplies.’

The final message was the one that made his hope die where it had started.

‘All evacuation attempts are being postponed until the fungus has started dying. It is unknown how long this period will last. An estimated 200 million Americans are dead, with the death count in the millions every day, and an approximate 2 billion dead globally. The deaths are still on the rise. It is unknown how many people will die, but scientists are hoping that the fungus will die out before it kills all of humankind. Stay safe, ration your supplies, and stay put.’

There was his answer. He was among the last survivors in Los Angeles, and potentially would be one of the last American survivors. He was completely alone, and he doubted that his friends had survived. Ethan, Bob, Wade, Tyler, Chica, Amy—

He had to stop. If he didn’t, he knew he would never want to get back up. He knew that he would want to grab a boat and float out to sea, and wait until either he starved to death or the boat capsized. Mark knew that he would stop fighting and just let himself die if he didn’t stop thinking about them.

Instead, he walked over to one of the corpses, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the smell, and crouched before digging into its clothing, looking for a set of keys, potentially car keys. It would be worth a shot—instead of walking on foot, it would be far more convenient to have a car. At least, to get out of Los Angelis. He wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of his home being reduced to a place full of only the dead.

Crouching was surprisingly hard—there was a weight on his shoulders that he couldn’t quite place, almost like a child’s. He didn’t understand what it was, but that was fine too, he supposed. If it was one of those  _ things _ , or some of the fungus growing on his back, he would be concerned, but he wasn’t exactly sure if it were either of them. He couldn’t feel the fungus crawling all over him like he normally would’ve, so he doubted it was that, but he also doubted that it was a corpse that was glued to his body.

Mark managed to find what he was looking for—car keys. But for what car, he didn’t know. He took a look around, checking the keys multiple times, before walking over to a 4x4 and trying them. They wouldn’t go into the ignition, and he did this a few more times before he managed to find the right car—a rental car, with the corpse’s ID in it, as well as some money and snacks. He checked the gas, noting that it was almost full, before he put the keys in the ignition and turned the car on. It revved nicely, but that wouldn’t matter when he began driving. He just needed to get out of here.

He put his foot on the gas, putting the car in reverse and backing out of the parking lot. When he was on the driveway, he turned around once more, before he pulled out onto the main road, taking off.

————

Having a car was far nicer than walking, Mark found. Getting fuel would be an issue in the future, but he doubted that he would be staying with this car, especially if he were trying to travel across the country. Maybe to get across California—dropping by San Diego would be a good idea, now that he thought about it—and possibly Nevada, but there was no way that he was going to get any farther than that. Besides; this car didn’t have as good air conditioning as he would prefer, or need if he was going to drive through the desert.

Despite that, he found it nice to be on the road again, despite the fact that everything around him was either dying or dead, or that he was the only person for miles, or that at any given moment a corpse could jump onto the car and attack him. He didn’t want to think of his friends or family at the moment—he couldn’t, he knew, because he would break the moment he thought of them, and he wanted to be in a safe place before he broke. He wanted to see them again, but Mark already knew that that was only wishful thinking now. He would never see them again.

“ _ You don’t know that. _ ” The voice said, but it seemed to only be as an afterthought. It was blank, that of a young man, but he couldn’t put a face to the voice. Almost as if he didn’t care about anything anymore. It wouldn't be that hard, with everything that anyone could ever care about now buried under rotting corpses and a murderous plant that had already killed two sevenths of the world's population. The only thing to latch onto now was survival, and even that was going to be hard.

Mark decided to ignore the voice, at least until it stopped making half assed attempts at being optimistic.

“ _ You really should listen to me, _ ” The voice said. “ _ Assuming their dead makes it harder—trust me. _ ”

Mark sighed, slowing down to a stop on the side of the road, pulling off out of force of habit. The voice was right, he knew, he shouldn’t just assume that everyone he loved was dead, but he really couldn’t help it. He’d seen Amy fall from the ladder while he was trying to pull her up, watched in horror as it snapped and fell, dragging him and everyone who was holding onto it back down to the ground. He never saw her land, but he already knew that she couldn’t have survived that fall, and that was the hardest part—knowing, but not quite knowing.

He hadn’t seen Ethan, or any of his other friends, but he already knew that if they weren’t dead then they would be in the same boat as him, no matter where they were. Wandering around, completely alone, wondering if anyone would ever come to rescue them. Wondering if they were the last person alive, wondering if there would be nothing left in the near future. Knowing that they might be among the next wave of casualties.

“I know, just…” Mark couldn’t quite string the words together. He leaned back, only to find that it was extremely painful to press against the seat like that, then moved forward, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. “I— I just don’t—I…” He punched the dashboard, hurting his knuckles more than the dashboard, but it felt good nonetheless. “I want to wake up. I want this to end. I want things to go back to normal.”

“ _ I know, Mark. I wish this was just a dream, too, but it isn’t. This is our reality, whatever fucked up version that we ended up with, and we just have to press on, since that’s all we really can do. There are others out there—more than you would think, actually— _ ”

“I don’t care about that!” Mark yelled, slamming his fists into the steering wheel, before he forced himself to calm down. “I want to go home, but I don’t have one anymore! I want to see my family again, but I’ll never see them again! I just want this to end. I don’t want this, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be the last one—” He couldn’t stop himself from crying, gripping the wheel as tight as he possibly could. The world consisted of only him and the steering wheel, and that voice in his head, which at the moment wasn’t saying anything. “I— just— don’t talk to me. I need some time, that’s it.”

“ _ I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you alone to ponder— _ ” Mark’s expression hardened, and he could practically feel the voice recoil, as if he had his own body. “ _ Alright, fine. We’ll all need some time, it’s understandable, but you definitely need someone. At least to keep you from breaking down. _ ”

“Not you.”

“ _ Okay. _ ”

He wiped his eyes, sighing, before he turned the car back on and pulled back onto the road, staying moving until night arrived.

————

Sleeping in the front of a car was rather painful, Mark realized. His joints were stiff, his back cracked the moment he leaned forward, and his knuckles were popping as he flexed his hands. The other thing he realized was that the car felt suddenly smaller than it had been before. In the context of his head was against the roof, just barely but still noticeable, and that his wings were shoved awkwardly between the seat and the door.

Wait… wings?

Mark’s neck cracked as he turned, looking in confusion as he saw pink feathers bursting out from his shoulder, as well as some sort of red fungus covering the window. He recoiled instantly, as if he were struck, assuming that this fungus was like the killer blue that covered everything he could see now. However, it didn’t seem to be doing anything other than just sitting there, and after a few moments he decided to poke it, just to see. When he did, nothing came out of it. No spores, no dust, nothing crawling onto his finger immediately and already starting to grow. Instead it was just there.

Mark’s focus was quickly drawn back to his newly acquired wings, in their hot pink glory, providing an acute contrast to the black of the seat. They weren’t as large as he would expect them to be, but seemed to have a heavy feeling to them, as if they weighed more than they looked. That could entirely be the case, and if that was then he would assume that they would only get heavier if they grew any further.

Then, of course, there was the issue that he could touch the top of his head to the roof of the car while slouched over. It seemed that the car had either shrunk overnight, or that he’d suddenly grown half a foot overnight. Mark doubted both of the options—they were both equivalent in absurdity—yet he couldn’t help but think that they were equally possible, in this situation. A zombie apocalypse caused by fungi isn’t exactly something that you would see every day, after all.

Mark decided to get out of the car to see.

This proved to be a task harder than he’d anticipated. His left wing was lodged between the seat and the door, pressed at just the right angle to make it highly uncomfortable to turn too far. His right was more open, but still got in the way, especially when he started trying to get out from the right door instead of the left. His left wing pulled free rather easily once he managed to turn enough, and then it was just a matter of crawling across the glovebox to the door. There were a few times when he’d pushed either a knee or a hand onto one of the wings when they caught under him, and the matter of not faceplanting when he opened the door, but besides that it was carried out flawlessly.

Much more effort than he would’ve liked to do something as simple as get out of a car.

When he was finally out, though, his question had been answered. His shirt wasn't long enough for him anymore, and the cuffs of his pants were wrapped around his shins more than his ankles. His toes were pressing against the fronts of his shoes, and he was definitely a good amount taller than the car was. This sudden growth was fit with two pink wings that weighed heavy on his back, almost causing him to fall over as he shifted his weight to turn around. They were huge, too, and blocked any attempt at looking over his shoulder with a feathery, pink wall.

"I'm on drugs. I'm so on drugs. I drank something that was laced, and I'm having one of those LSD trips. There is no fucking explanation for that, none."

" _ You grew wings overnight. _ "

"I did  _ not _ ."

Mark heard the voice chuckle, and scowled at himself. He didn’t know what else to scowl at. “Okay, so maybe I  _ did _ grow wings overnight, but that doesn’t explain the reason  _ why _ I grew wings overnight. Maybe I’m just hallucinating, and this isn’t actually real, or maybe I’ve actually gone insane. A month into the apocalypse and I’ve lost it. That’s gotta be a record—”

“ _ I mean, this hasn’t happened in the past, so what record would be set? _ ”

“Just let me have this one thing!” Mark shouted, before sighing and leaning against the car. “I’m losing it, I swear.” He then reached for his phone, pulling it out and checking the time before turning it off and shoving it back into his pocket. He had the solar charger, yes, but he didn’t know how long it would last and he didn’t want to waste any battery if he didn’t have to. “Alright, so I grew wings. What now?”

Mark could practically feel the voice shrug, almost as if he already knew but didn’t want to say that he did. He sighed, walking around the front of the car and opening the driver’s door, before staring at it in confusion. “How do I get in now?” He asked, worried that he would be walking acrossed the country instead of driving. He did  _ not _ have enough supplies for that.

The voice snickered, before speaking. “ _ I mean, like you would if you didn’t have wings. They fold around you, you know. _ ”

Mark reached inside and grasped the steering wheel, before pulling himself in carefully. His wings followed behind him, a couple of feathers catching in the door before freeing themselves. He grimaced at the missing feeling of the seat, replaced with the silky softness of bird feathers. He wondered how long they would last that way, before something happened to them, before putting the keys into the ignition and carefully shutting the door.

Another few hours of driving before he reached his destination.

————

It was high noon when Mark reached San Diego. By then, he decided to switch cars, hoping to find something large and cooler than the small rental that he was currently driving. Maybe then he would be able to stand driving across the country, most likely alone. Or, if he could figure out how to use his wings, he could fly, but he doubted that he would’ve wanted to even if he could. If he lost control for a  _ second _ he would plummet to the ground.

Before abandoning the car he grabbed the shotgun and bullets out of it, deciding that it would be most certainly better if he kept it.

Now onto foot it was. The streets were much like Los Angelis, covered in dead bodies and fungus, the rotting stench of flesh permiating the air. Stores were far more overrun and the fungus seemed to be more aggressive with how it had taken over these bodies, but that really was the only difference. How anyone could survive in this he couldn’t know, but he decided to follow the signs of life anyways.

Footprints—blue ones that belonged to sneakers—walked into the city, followed by strange blue lines beside them. He decided to follow them, taking care to not step on the corpses that got in the way. They still had been people, and for that they deserved some semblance of respect, even if they were dead. The footprints lead into an alleyway, then along the back end of a house that had already been overtaken by the fungus. It lead into the woods, handprints lining some of the trees until it reached an open area, with the warm charcoal of a dying fire resting around a circle of small rocks.

Sitting besides it were three people. A tall, balding man in a stained red shirt with his arms wrapped in cloth; a large man with the same attire, only a deep blue shirt; and a younger man with glowing blue eyes and six spider like legs sprouting from his back. Mark stared for a few moments, watching them while they were watching him, before raising his hand and slowly waving at them.

“Hi..?” Mark questioned carefully, raising an eyebrow at the crew. Their faces lit up with recognition, smiles breaking out upon all of their faces, before he could realize what was going on.

“Mark!”

“Mark!”

“Mark!”

Ethan, Bob, and Wade. They were alive, and right in front of him, sitting around a burnt out fire, Ethan baring spider legs and Bob and Wade covered in extra layers to protect themselves from the fungus. Mark stumbled over to them, not knowing how to process this new information that was being presented to him. The immediate response that all three had was to rush over to him and hug him, despite the dust all over his clothes and in his hair, pulling him tight into a group hug that almost hurt him.

For the second time since the rescue, he broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> queen: 'i like fluffy wings as an idea'
> 
> not even kidding thats what she said


End file.
